The Piano Man
by oldfashionedromantic
Summary: Amelia Fairchild, daughter of the Marquise of Brentworth is set to marry the Vicomte Pierre De Chagny but what happens when she meets Erik Barnezet, her knew piano-tutor? E/OW
1. Letters

**Chapter 1**

**Letters**

It was a _crime _that she was not married or so said her mother. Who was she you ask, no one worth cataloging really. She was just an ordinary young woman who happened to have one of the most extraordinary things happen to her. She fell in love. There is nothing unordinary about this for people fall in love every day, rather it was _who _she fell for that makes this story interesting. But I am getting ahead of myself; this is the story of a young girl who saw the man in the monster…a young woman named Amelia. More correctly Lady Amelia Katherine-Edith-Fairchild who at the age of nineteen remained unmarried and dangerously close to becoming a spinster. But that was not the only trouble; she wanted to marry for love. Not so bad right? Wrong. You see being a Lady of society, particularly French society having to be named a spinster was a thing unheard of.

Her father, Kenneth Eduard Harper Fairchild is the Marquise of Brentworth as well as the Viscount of Dunningham and half a dozen other titles too small to be considered noteworthy. A very stern man, he came from London on the hope of finding a nice vacation to which he could return from in a state of peace. Instead do to some bad investments by his solicitor he had lost nearly his whole fortune and his way of getting out. So he was stuck in the middle of Paris with Middleclass lodgings and two sentimental women.

As such, his exacting disposition had worsened over the years and was not at all helped by the dealings of his daughter. She had come to Paris at the age of sixteen and had her head filled with all the romantic fiddle-faddle of the lover's country. His wife was just as bad, Mae Emily-Rose Fairchild was as romantic as her daughter and while Kenneth adored her, her starry-eyed ideas made him sick. He was a sober and quiet man, who liked to keep to himself, hated storytelling of any sort and never read if he could help it. Thus he could not understand his daughter's fascination with them. So he puffed every day at his pipe and swallowed a glass of brandy.

Little did he know that his daughter was about to make the love-match of the century, but not in the way he expected. It all started in the library of her home in the suburbs of Paris when one day, when she was coughing over some dust.

The room was dusty and smelled of leather and aging paper, old books, yellowed with time poked there wizened faces out from the shelves and a young woman stood at the desk in her library reading that morning's edition of the Époque where published in a small column were the words: Erik is dead. She had no notion of whom or what this Erik was; no one had seen this man to begin with. Still, she couldn't help but feel some twinge of sorrow for the man; it was just in her nature. This was something her mother thought to be proud of and her father absolutely abhorred.

"Amelia?" her father shouted at the top of his voice.

"Yes father." She said coming out.

He looked at her seriously, setting down his morning coffee and pulling off his reading glasses. She waited for him to respond. His green eyes lit with mischief as he handed her a letter addressed with a lion's head on it. Amelia sighed and took it knowing who it was from and dreading the contents. Sure enough it was from the De Chagny Boy.

"Pierre De Chagny is coming today." He said softly, "He has some business to discuss with you."

Amelia sighed she already knew that much, the man had written to her the night before saying so. She really did not like the man…no reason honestly it was just Pierre was the kind of foppish young lad she abhorred in books. Her father wanted her to marry him because he was a Chagny. The son of the Comte Philippe de Chagny and the next heir to the wealthiest man and titles in France. Good bloodlines and dandy-like the perfect match for the sentimental little girl. Truth-be-told she thought him boring and possessive though he seemed ardent for her. She sighed, rereading the letter in her head.

_My Dearest Lady Amelia_

_I am coming to visit you tomorrow morning on a matter of some urgency regarding our relationship. The time sharp will be nine o'clock sharp and I will be in your courtyard awaiting you with a pounding heart. Please be on time as I am very busy during the wintertime and do not have much time to spend in the pleasure of your female company. May this message reach you in good health, my lady and may these words excite you as they would my own heart._

_I remain yours:_

_Pierre Françoise Michael De Chagny._

Amelia had rolled her eyes at him then, they had no relationship of which to speak and she did not see him as the object of her affections any time soon if at all. Her parents on the other hand were always pushing them together, setting up dates for them or regular little outings of that sort. Though Amelia couldn't see why, after all the only thing special about him was his name. He had no title, whereas she was the daughter of a very powerful man. He was the son of Philippe De Chagny but the Vicomtedom had gone to his uncle so he was way below her class.

"Well, I am sure whatever Mister De Chagny has to say must be very urgent," Said her mother as she snapped her fan shut.

Amelia doubted that, it was probably just a lot of posturing over how wonderful he was and so on. But when she opened the letter it was to her surprise almost interesting. He did the usual 'I am so wonderful' rigmarole and then revealed his intentions.

_My Dearest Lady Amelia_

_As of now you have probably heard of my Uncle's scandalous betrothal with that opera slut Christine Daaë. There has been no word from him since and we (the Chagnys) have reason to believe that he and that woman have eloped with one another. As you can imagine, we've reporters knocking on our doors and mother has taken ill. It's an utter disgrace! My family and I are dreadfully dismayed by it as you have probably guessed from the tone of this letter._

_As you can imagine not long after this, my father the honorable Comte Chagny flew into a rage. A rage might I add that caused me to come into some great fortune , He said some very vulgar things that I being a gentleman of good upbringing shall not write for fear of offending the eyes of the gentler sex. Ah, but how gentle you are, the epitome of womanliness and with such good blood. Oh do not laugh at me Lady Amelia, we shall make handsome heirs. I have nothing but the most honorable intentions towards you my dear and must ask now that you give me the attention that is my due._

_I know that in the past I have been no one as my uncle was born long before me and that you, my dear Amelia are a woman of the highest stature. But now, I am pleased to say that my father has willingly given me the title of Vicomte. Uncle had given it up when he married that girl, and now we are both nobility. As such I feel it is the duty of both of us that my father shall soon hope to call you his daughter-by-marriage. Please accept my visitation of you tomorrow and my hand for the sake of my family line._

_I remain yours:_

_Pierre François Michael De Chagny, Vicomte De Chagny _

_P.S. I will not take 'no' for an answer._

Amelia sighed softly, picking up the letter again. Pierre was not ugly, that was sure, no indeed he was quite beautiful. His father's dark hair and eyes, but the paleness of a handsome statue, his mother's pretty manners and a sense of right and wrong that was as sturdy and rooted as an oak tree. It was just that he was so full of himself that she could hardly have a decent conversation with the man without wanting to hit him.

"He wants to marry me." She said.

Kenneth looked up from his paper and raised two light brown eyebrows with surprise an eager smile curving his lips. Mae let out a girlish squeal and kissed both her daughter's cheeks. Her father smiled, knowing that he had gotten his way and that Amelia would not refuse his own wishes. He lit his pipe, puffed out a few billows of smoke and sucked the wooden reed in thought.

"That's wonderful!" said her mother.

Inwardly Amelia groaned, knowing what was coming next.

"Yes, quite." Said her father tapping his chin in thought, "Amelia, did you not say that Pierre was a great lover of the piano?"

Amelia nodded.

"Well then you shall have a tutor! We must impress him now mustn't we?" Mae said with a smile.

Her daughter would have pointed out that she already knew how to play the piano and that she would not want to impress him at all for that matter. But she knew that would be a waste of breath because her mother would acknowledge it and then point out that she was of only adequate level and would need to be at excellent before she could marry him. Amelia did not see why as Pierre obviously was proposing a marriage of convenience but knew that arguing was useless. Amelia nodded and smiled when her mother turned to her father and told him to go out and find the best man for the job.

Ken on the other hand said he was going to do no such thing and that he had best put an ad in the Époque. Mae playfully punched his arm and called him a lazy oaf, then continued chattering on at him about what a match they had made for their daughter. Leaving Amelia to sit and watch the scene in silent dread.

**This is my first attempt at E/OW tell me how I did?**


	2. An Angel's Plea

**Chapter 2**

**An Angel's Plea**

Deep down in the cellars of the Pailias Garnier, Erik Barnezet drank his sixth bottle of wine. By this time he was so drunk that colors both vibrant and pale appeared before his eyes. Tears, hot as flame trickled down his stubble-roughened cheek he was a mess. He, Erik, the once proud Opera Ghost now a raging alcoholic who sat day and night in the bed of the only woman he had ever really loved. Clutching her bridal veil in his arms and rocking back and forth, whimpering, 'Christine…' until his voice was raw. While he sat curled up into a half-moon stance staring at the mannequin of the beauty so perfectly captured by and so brutally stolen from him by a beautiful man and wealthy young man.

He gulped more and more wine until he was so drunk that his hallucinations had hallucinations. Till he was swallowed up in the bittersweet taste of the red Merida, floating on a sea of red liquid that reminded him of blood. Oh the peace it brought him, the thought of blood, drowning in it would be a fitting end for him. The monster dies by his victim's hands, their souls gripping him and dragging him down to the lowest level of Hell where he belonged. Erik sighed at the thought of oblivion, the sweet release of death, the all-consuming sleep from which he would never wake.

Rising to his feet and staggering back he looked around the ruins of his home by the lake. Music sheets scattered everywhere and candles toppled to the side. He picked up one of them; it was Christine's favorite piece, one about a fairy in a meadow and a prince that got his happy ending, the one he had made as a birthday gift for her when she was seven. He placed it back on one of the music stand atop the piano –which had mercifully not been destroyed- and played it.

_"Fairies dancing on the moon_

_Say to a saddened prince_

_'Do not despair, do not despair'_

_'You will find your l-ady soon'_

_He doubted this, oh doubt did he_

_For love he just could not find_

_He thought he was cursed, and so he did pine_

_But soon found he, soon found he that fate was kind._

_For one hot day, a long road stretched beneath his blistered feet…._

_He fell to the ground, for oh how they burned from the summer heat._

_And th-e-hen he heard and an Angel's voice singing very sweet-"_

He stopped then so abruptly that his fingers made a horrible screeching sound. No more happy music, no nothing to remind him of the woman he loved. He wanted to die; there was nothing left for him. The world was cold to people like him a frozen emotional wasteland. He raised his knife, the gleam of it welcoming him. He lowered the blade and sighed in relief when it sliced his flesh, he felt the blood, hot and wet leaking out of him and then he felt peaceful as a white light loomed above him.

_"Erik…" _he heard the voice, whispering in his mind.

The voice was calm and sweet, calling his name but he did not want to hear it. A hand was on his shoulder a light touch shaking him. He was lightheaded; curious warmth filled him….

_"Oh for The Master's Sake, wake up!"_

He opened his eyes and there stood a woman, glorious to see clad all in gold and white. She was peering at him from large colorless eyes and tapping her delicate foot. She war no makeup, nor jewelry save for the halo dancing in a flash of gold on her pearl white head. She wore an irritated expression on her full lips and held out a delicate hand to him. Erik took her hand and allowed her to pull him up, looking down he noticed that the wound in his arm was still there but it no longer bled or burned. His clothes were clean and when he looked down he saw the empty blue of a cloudless sky.

The woman looked him over and shook her head at the red stains on his white shirt. She clapped her hands and a white sponge appeared out of nowhere. Before Erik could say a word she stroked the thing over his shirt and the red stain disappeared. Then she took his arm and mopped it closed as though it had never been.

"Angel…" he murmured as he identified the creature.

She did not respond to him and squeezed the pinkish sponge out and tossed it into the air where it vanished. In its place was a mirror and a book, she handed him the mirror and opened the book. Erik was puzzled by it, since when were angel's inclined to read books and clean things when interviewing someone for the afterlife?

_"Yes! There you are!" _she clapped her hands, _"Suicide." _She sounded very disapproving.

Erik looked her up and down, taking in her measure and noticing how white she was. The stories that he remembered were ones with blonde angels and chubby little babies flying around trying to massacre each other with bows and arrows. Not white, colorless cleaning ladies who read books. How odd. He tried to walk away from her and go find someone sensible to talk to, but the moment he lifted his leg he fell off the patch of sky. The angel laughed gaily and swooped to catch him by the wrist just in time.

_"Just where you are headed Monsieur, _"she laughed and stood him upright again and then became serious, _"is just where you do not want to go. You see if you fall you'll go **down there.**"_

A black hole opened beneath them and the sounds of pathetic moans and wailing filled his ears. So horrible it was that Erik covered his ears and even the angel cringed. A man, twisted with evil and hatred reached out and caught at the hem of her dress. She snapped her fingers and cast the thing back to the dark where it came from.

"Hell." he stated, "that was hell."

The angel nodded sadly, brushing a tear from her face. Before he could ask further questions, she closed the whole and then her book, with a clap of her hands. Waving her hand she conjured a whole sitting room where she shoved Erik down onto a chair and conjured up a pot of something steamy. She poured him a cup of what smelled like chocolate.

Erik almost declined but decided not to be rude to a woman who had just saved him from hell. He took it and sipped at it, the 'chocolate' if that's what it was, was the most delicious thing he'd ever had. The pot was facing him and on it he read: milk of human kindness. So, this is why he had always been bitter, he had never tasted the milk of human kindness or _any _kindness for that matter. He waited for her to speak but she did not so he decided that he should start.

"Where am I?..." he muttered, "Am I dead?"

The angel cocked her head to the left and inspected him still saying nothing she reached over gracefully and raised his own hand to his malformed cheek. It felt as rough and twisted as usual, nothing had changed.

_"Erik Anton Barnezet… do you feel dead?" _she asked.

"No." he said.

_"Good, because you are not. This is in between." she said._

"Oh wonderful." he said, "now please open the whole so I can go to hell where I belong." he said bitterly.

The Angel shook her head.

"What about me, Erik, you see how white I am?" she asked sadly.

"Of course, I'm not blind." he said, "regardless I want to die."

"Then you do not care for me." she looked crushed.

Erik looked confused, then he looked at her whiteness again and wondered what she meant. She was an angel...what did his loss have to do with her? He did not voice the questions, not having the heart to do so lest he hurt her. But then the strangest thing happened, the angel in all her glory, dropped to her knees and cried. Great heart-wrenching sobs, not out of anger, or want but out of despair. Erik did not understand why he did it, but he knelt down and hugged her, making 'shushing' sounds and waiting for her to stop. When she did she looked up at him and let him wipe her eyes.

"I am white because I am the guardian angel of your true love-"

"Christine? She does not love me." he said softly.

"No...not your first love...your _true_ love. "

Now Erik was really annoyed, his true love had left him for a better man, he knew that already and why the hell God would wanto to torment him more was really puzzling to him. The angel picked up the mirror that he had dropped when he had run to her side. He looked at the mirror and a vision of a woman with light brown hair wearing a breezy lavender gown appeared before him. He blinked and looked at the angel who nodded and gave him a small smile.

"She has not yet found you and visa-versa without you she can not be whole...if she is not whole I will return to nothingness. Please Erik for your sake and mine... live, live and love her."

Erik nodded, he just could not say no, knowing there was a woman out there other than Christine who loved him...was made for him. He could not say no. The angel smiled and kissed him on the lips, deepening it till he drowned in the feeling. He felt the mirror being taken away and she gave his chest a light push and then he fell, down, down until he woke in the dark of his home, ready to face another day.


	3. The End of the Opera Ghost

**Chapter 3**

**The End of the Opera Ghost**

Nadir Khan jolted awake at the _ratta-tap-tap _of the doorknocker, letting out one last grunt when the racket sounded again. Knuckling his eyes, the forty-year-old got to his feet and looked about for a cheroot, a pleasure he rarely indulged in. Save for those times when he was annoyed or bored, now was definitely one of those times. So her got to his feet and sat down, waiting for Darius to tell him who had the impertinence to call on him during his regular afternoon siesta. When the servant came back, he simply told his master that a visitor clad in black had arrived.

The Persian knew at once who this visitor was and ordered Darius to show him in. Sure enough it was Erik, looking as deadly as usual with his mask covering the left side of his face and dress clothes. Yet there was something different about him, a gleam in his blue-grey eyes Nadir did not recognize. He seemed uncharacteristically happy, gleeful even, like a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. What was even more surprising was the way he politely asked if he could have a seat. The other, still reeling from the shock of it all, took a moment to recover before nodding and motioning for Erik to have seat in the chair directly across from him.

"Nadir," Erik began excitedly, "you won't believe what has happened to me!"

"I already don't." replied the other, "Erik are you feeling all right?"

"Never better my friend! Never better!" he said.

It was in that moment that the Phantom of the Opera did the strangest thing Nadir had ever seen: he laughed. He threw back his head and laughed, soft and musical but so infectious that the Persian himself could not hold back a chuckle. Erik closed his eyes, reveling in the ability to feel joy, to feel hope and dare he saw it, genuine affection for his friend. When he opened them again Nadir was smoking a cheroot as he poured two glasses of tea, Russian for him and English for Erik. He offered Erik a smoke but the masked man refused it and picked up his teacup, smelling the brew and sighing contentedly.

"You know Nadir..." he put his cup down, "There's nothing like dying to give you a new outlook on life."

Nadir choked on his tea at that, causing Erik to jump to his feet and pat the man on the back. When he recovered from the spell, he looked at his guest wondering what was wrong with him. What did he mean that dying had given him a new outlook on life? What had come over the man? Erik had never before called him 'Nadir' it was always a contemptuous 'Daroga' or a curt, cold, 'Khan' but never by his first name. He stood up and literally shoved Erik back in his chair, before retaking his own.

"Erik you are quite certain that you are not ill?" he asked.

"No, no _mon ami_, I'm fit as a fiddle! Did you know Daroga, that angels are colorless, and that they read books?" Erik asked.

"A-angels," the other stuttered.

"Yes, angels, they don't have colors and they have magic mirrors who show you the love of your life."

The Persian sighed, feeling sorry for Erik. The poor man had lived underground too long and had gone quite mad. He was taking this rejection from the Daaë girl very hard and it seemed had gone loony in his despair. Nadir stood to his feet and took his friend by the shoulder, starting to steer the man towards the guest room. Erik did look really sleepy and a nap might bring him to his senses, he hoped it would for both their sakes. Nadir knew Erik to be prone to wild dreams and prayed he would wake from this one soon, lest he himself become infected with this madness and start rambling about angels and death or whatever else.

"Where are you taking me Nadir, cannot you see I have come to speak with you over something quite serious?"

Nadir said nothing, worrying that if he spoke the man would continue to ramble on. He just took Erik down to the guest room and lead him inside where he gently laid him down amongst the sheets and leaned down to take his dress-shoes off. Erik had ceased chattering and his eyes were closing, the Daroga smiled tenderly, feeling a sudden surge of warmth toward the drowsing man. He remembered when Erik had done this for him the night he had lost his son. The sympathy for him masked the grief he had felt for the loss of the child.

He sighed, Erik was indeed horrible to look at and often cruel but he had loved Reza, perhaps as much as Nadir. No even more than that, when Erik loved some one that love exceeded the boundaries of the earth. He looked down at him, smiling at the soft snores coming from him, when he slept he looked slightly better, his cheeks fuller, his eyes more well human as they ought to have been would he'd been normal He turned and went back to the door turning down the lamp. He turned on his heel and went into the sitting room.

There the man paced up and down in front of his fireplace, lighting another cigarette. He knew he really should quit smoking but right now he was too freaked out to bother about it. What did he mean 'nothing like dying' was he back on his morphine? No, he did not do that anymore, he had been off for nearly a decade besides Erik had gotten off when he met Daaë. He'd knew because he had helped him through it himself, Nadir sighed, what an ordeal that had been. But then his friend had done so in the throes of love, a love so deep it caused him to nearly kill the former Vicomte De Chagny, ( his advocating of the title had been published in the Époque) oh the things he had done for that woman. The things he still did for her, Nadir had often seen Erik drawing pictures of her and sobbing for her in the night.

The Persian sighed and cursed Daaë eloquently in his own language; now that she was gone there was no telling what that man could have done. But then Nadir would have recognized the signs of intoxication so that was out. What had come over the man? It was not that he did not want Erik to be happy, no indeed it was a rather pleasant change of pace. But the change was so sudden that it spooked him to the point of running the risk of lung cancer to calm his nerves. The ebony-skinned man dropped into a chair resolving to wait till Erik woke to get to the bottom of this. Though he waited several hours for the man to rouse he had busied himself with matters of business and one-on-one games of chess with himself. When at last the door creak and Erik emerged he stood up and waited for him to say something.

"Thank you my friend, I needed that. " He said, "I had no how tired I was until I had lie down."

"Any time, now that you're more rested perhaps you'd like to tell me what all this senseless blathering is about." He said, "What's this about angels having no color and books and whatnot?"

"Ah Nadir, my dear, dear Daroga cannot you understand that I was dead and now I am back. Oh of course not, you being in your faith do not understand these things. Well here's what happened, I had slit my wrist open and bled out, and oh you cannot gage the depth of my despair. As I was lying there dead, I saw a woman-"

"A woman?" Nadir asked, thinking at once that he had dreamed of Daaë.

"Yes, a woman, oh she was glorious despite being white as a sheet and she told me that she was an angel and then stopped me from going to hell. Just so you know it is far worse than anything you could see in an Opera. Then the two of us had a cup of the milk of human kindness –it tasted wonderful by the way- but I was still despairing over Christine and so I told her to let me go to hell. Something horrible happened then, the angel accused me of not caring for her and she cried…" he stopped to catch his breath.

The other man however had concluded that his friend was not well and got up to place his hand on Erik's brow. The masked man at once inquired as to why he was doing this and received a too-quick 'nothing' in response. Feeling that the man had no temperature but was now very curious to hear what happened next. He smiled as his friend took a sip of his tea; liking the feeling that Erik's storytelling gave him. He, being Persian was from a country where stories and their tellers where widely popular and truth-be-told he had never met one as good as Erik. He motioned for Erik to go on and when he did it was with a note of hope in his voice.

Erik continued," she told me that she was the guardian angel of my true love, Of course at first I thought she meant Christine so I denied it but then she showed me a vision of another woman. So you see my friend that all hope is not lost for me! That is why I have come here today, I want to move out of my underground home and live like a normal man. I was hoping you would help me find a house, and a few servants to go with it and then surely I will meet this woman who was made for me."

Nadir would have called him mad, but no one who had looked into the eyes of that man could have doubted the sincerity of his words. "Do you have anything in mind?"

Erik looked thoughtful for a moment, "hmm…something by the seaside where you can hear the sound of the ocean and see the water with a watchtower that you can look up and see the sky forever. Big and white, with a large balcony where one can stand and watch the waves, a large music room and good-sized wine cellar. A sitting room with a fireplace and several bathrooms and bedrooms. A library of course and a large stable for César…"

"Allah Erik, you don't want a house you want a mansion!" Nadir said.

Erik laughed, "Well I _can _pay for it." He took out a heavy leather purse, "four-million-eight-hundred-thousand francs, and my life savings from years at the opera."

"Well," said Nadir, "let's go get you a house and a bank account while we're at it," and he lead his friend outside.

"Yes my friend for here marks the end of the Opera Ghost." Erik said.


	4. Honest work

**Chapter 4**

**Honest Work**

The waves whispered softly as the slushed and sloshed and the salty air smelled pleasantly sharp in his nose. The masked man stood on the balcony of his home as he watched the sunrise on this early morning. Erik had taken a nameless but _very _expensive mansion by the seaside known now as 'Barnezet Court.' He realized that he had best find some work to accommodate his expensive tastes. He could not go with extortion anymore as no one would give in to Monsieur Barnezet. If they did he would no doubt be investigated by the gendarme and (given his history) would be carted off to prison before he could count to three.

Of course, there was no record of there actually being an 'opera ghost' only a myth to scare the ballet rats. A myth cooked up by a loony drunkard who (as far as the courts were concerned) had gotten drunk and committed suicide. Still, there were those few people who knew him and had actually seen him, Meg Giry for example. Christine's best friend followed her like a puppy did its master and would give him away in a flash if he hurt Christine, Erik sighed. His former love had no doubt told Giry everything, so going back to his old tricks was out.

These thoughts irked him, so much so that he began to feel the beginnings of despair, and looking at his watch he noticed the clock said 4:30 a.m. He went to his stable and retrieved César to go for a morning ride on the beach, whispering to him that he was happy. César whinnied softly and trotted lazily up the drive to where a large rock rested. Erik swung off César and climbed it. Tired as he was from his puzzling thoughts, he reclined and listened to the waves. The sky was lighter now and as he rode back home he laughed.

Ah, what a month! He had moved out of the Garnier and was now just like other men now, save for the wealth he had tucked in his bank account. He remembered the week that he and Nadir had searched for his home; Erik had nearly driven the man mad as he turned down place after place. It was not until late that Erik had spotted it, the perfect house! It was white as his mask with gold trim on the sides and front, with real mahogany doors and marble columns to shroud them. The builders and masons were there and speaking in heavy accents.

`"This one sure is pretty 'eh Kendall?" one of them said.

"You betcha, our finest piece of work, she is!" replied the other, "furnished too, got me'self an old buddy up in the Virginia, shipped all his old furniture down here so he did."

"Mighty fine shit too, looks like its jus' of the bet if ye asked me!" The man named Kendall belched and laughed.

"You bet, damn it's gonna be good when we sell this thing!"

The two men clinked their beer bottles and laughed.

They were obviously American-born, Erik could tell because of their total bastardization of the French language. The masked man walked up to them stilling Nadir as he did so. The two men looked at him and burst out laughing, pointing their fingers at him as though he were some kind of monkey in a zoo. He cocked his eyebrow and waited for them to stop, but they just guffawed and chocked on their black coffee. Erik growled low in his throat, the urge to kill them bubbling up.

_No_, _no more murders, you don't want to ruin what you've worked so hard to build,_ he thought, he had to remain calm and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Excuse me Monsieur, but I would like to buy this place. "He said.

The two men stopped laughing for a minute and then busted again. "Billy can ya believe dis guy, he want to buy this house."

The man called Billy laughed, "Yeah betcha 100,000 francs he can't afford it."

"Done," Erik said.

He reached for his purse, retrieving the required fee and handed it to him, before snatching the keys and walking into his house without as much as another word between them. Nadir had laughed out loud at the two slack-jawed gentlemen and followed his friend into the house. After a close inspection of the house he and Erik set about finding servants, hiring a full staff of ten maids, a butler and an under butler, a chef, kitchen boy, four stable masters, a driver and lastly and errand-boy. He then went about buying a black coach and a snow-white stallion to match César and two black ones. Then they pointed the horses home the pair spent a pleasant night together, pitching cards as they talked.

"Well Erik what will you do now?" he asked.

"I don't know, find some work I suppose." He then laughed loudly.

"What is funny about working?" Nadir asked, cocking on eyebrow.

"It's not that Daroga, it's not that!"

"What then, look here Erik you've been laughing for the last _month_ over some nonsense about a woman and a colorless angel. I demand to know what is so terribly funny."

"It's the irony of it is all, here I am, the bloody opera ghost going to find a job! Oh it's too rich!"

Nadir thought this over and laughed along with him, finding it humorous as well. He yawned and told Erik he must be on his way, but the man insisted that he stay the night. He agreed and Erik, who had at once felt tired from the day, said 'good night' to his friend and retired to his room for the night. He slept in his bed soundly that night and dreamed of his new life. When he woke the next morning he realized that he was the _owner_ of this massive house, it was _his. _He commanded it without having to threaten people and he was referred to as 'master' by the servants. For the first time the Phantom could be a man, he was Erik Anton Barnezet, he was a normal man!

Naturally he was at a loss for what to do, should he play his music or simply stand on the balcony? He did not feel like music, his music was somber and cold, he was far too happy for that. So he decided to watch the sunrise. Erik relaxed as he looked at the pocket watch from his large overcoat to read 5:00 a.m. as he enjoyed the silence of the seaside.

The solitary peace in which he could wallow, the quiet voices of thoughts regarding the angel's premonitions of his future love. He wondered what she would look like, what color were her eyes and how bright was her smile? Was she intelligent or dumb with just a pretty face, was she pretty at all or was she deformed? He would love her either way; he had no choice after all she was made for him. But still, he thought these things over with a tap of his chin. He thought of whether or not she would love him back. Did she know that he was meant to be the love of her life or would she leave him for another? Erik thought and thought until the pounding of an oncoming headache made it impossible.

"Master, your morning paper." Said Daniel, his stately butler.

"Thank you," he replied.

Erik set about trying to find a job and immediately saw the answer:

**MARQUISE BRENTWORTH REQIURES PIANO TEACHER FOR HIS DAUGHTER.**

**17689 SAINT PETER'S DRIVE**

Erik smiled and the thought and drove off to the address in his coach, waiting to see the man's face when he met him. The home in which he arrived at was a small but homey one and when he knocked on the door a woman answered and asked him what he wanted. Erik told her simply that he intended on applying for the job of music teacher and, though the woman looked skeptical she allowed him to come in and told him her husband was in his office.

"Come in," the man said when he knocked.

"Monsieur le Marquise, I am Erik Barnezet and I have come to teach your daughter." Erik stated, figuring it was best to get straight to the point.

"Mmm-hmm," the man looked doubtful, "can you play the piano, or are you just trying to get my money?" he gave Erik a I-think-I-know-what-you're-up-to look.

"Oh please Monsieur, I assure you I am quite legitimate. Do you have a music room, if you let me play I shall put your mind at rest."

"What may I ask is the mask for?" replied the other.

Erik gave a dramatic sigh, "the last opera at the Garnier was ruined when that chandelier crashed and my face...oh god my face.." he pretended to wipe his eyes, "please don't make me take it off sir, I beg you."

The tears he cried then were real, all the rejection came forth and poured out of his eyes. The other man reached up and squeezed his shoulder, knowing full well of the opera house fire. He lead Erik down to the music room where he told him to play. He did and his host's mouth dropped, he asked Erik when he could start and he told him right away if he wished. The Marquise nodded and called for his daughter, whose footsteps pattered like rain down the stairs. Erik looked up at her and froze.


	5. Heated Introductions

**Chapter 5**

**Heated Introductions**

Erik stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the elegant young woman who descended them. He had expected a child, perhaps an adolescent, sniveling and pampered, in other words a spoiled daddy's girl demanding lessons. Not this fragile-looking creature whose grace was the picture of elegance and whose father could not look prouder. Still, he went up to greet her as any gentleman would, bow low with a nod of his head. He prayed to god the man did not disapprove of him already as the Marquise looked like he was going to be one of those men. He looked like the sort of man who sought to keep his daughter out of the way of floating air particles much less strange men who she did not know.

` It was no wonder; such a delicate creature should be chaperoned everywhere and not allowed to do anything without her parents' permission whether it be choosing a gown or going out with a man . She held her hand out and when he bent to kiss it, she nodded. He looked up and caught a sparkle in her eyes, an eager one that said 'when can we start?' He did not know what she waited for, as he had not gotten the job yet, nor introduced himself. But he had no doubt her father had told her that she was going to get piano lessons and no doubt thought he had already been hired.

Erik sighed, the poor child had no idea what she was in for, Christine had told him at one time that he was a very hard teacher and he planned to be just as hard with her. Never mind if he was cruel or she did not like it. The bitterer the medicine, the quicker the cure, and as the old saying goes, 'spare the rod and spoil the child' and he _did not_ spare the rod for his pupils as she would soon find out.

"BonJour Monsieur," she said in heavily accented French.

"Daughter, this is your new piano tutor." The Marquise said, gesturing to Erik with a strong hand gracefully carved by age.

"Really," the excitement was plain in her voice; she was smiling brightly at him.

This girl was far too lovely for her own good. Erik was surprised that the man had given him the job so quickly without so much as a question of his references but then he attributed that to his talent, which though he was a very modest man usually he was openly proud of himself. The girl was speaking to her father and Erik could have cared less what she said.

"Merci Monsieur." she said.

Erik could tell she was not from France and though her French was good he had a bit of trouble understanding her. Her manners were impeccable, he gave her that but still she was struggling. He almost laughed out loud when she curtsied to him, seeing that she obviously having issues with the practice. He cleared his throat and bowed his chin again, casting a hidden glance at her father who was grinning so falsely that it made him want to snarl. The young woman was speaking to him, he gathered that but when he looked at her she was waiting for a response from him. Erik cleared his throat in a gentlemanly manner and met her eyes evenly.

"I would prefer if you spoke to me in English miss as it is clearly your mother tongue, and your French while not bad is lacking in understandability." Erik said, by way of greeting,

"I beg your pardon? I, sir speak perfectly adequate French and am insulted that you should say such a thing!" she snapped.

"Yes, yes but your accent makes it difficult for me to understand my dear and…"

"Do, _not_ call me 'my dear' **_Monsieur, _**you are neither my father nor my lover," she interrupted, "You are not even my instructor yet, as the lessons have not begun and have no authority over me!"

Erik blinked, this young woman was no lady, and she was a spitfire! She needed an attitude adjustment right now. She was still glaring at him when her father stepped in, giving Erik an apologetic look and turning to his daughter with one of I-am-going-to-kill-you-if-you-do-not-behave.

"Come, come now daughter, introduce yourself to the gentleman." Her father said.

"_That_ man is no gentleman!" she pointed a slender finger at Erik, "He is nothing but a-"she stopped at a glare from her father, "Amelia Katherine-Edith Fairchild, Marchioness Brentworth."

"A pleasure Miss, my name is Erik Anton Barnezet." He kissed her hand.

"Pleasure indeed." She muttered.

"No my dear," he smirked, noticing the flash fire in her eyes, "I am indeed honored to make your acquaintance."

Amelia did not miss the sarcasm in his voice, nor the egotistical smirk that quirked his lips slightly. She glared at him but remembered that her sire was present and nodded her head with a reluctant curtsy and a smile. Her father nodded his head approvingly, and Erik grinned slightly. He had not failed to notice that her smile was insecure and her politeness in general was forced. Honestly he did not understand why, all he had done was asked her to speak English so she would be easier to understand. Erik seriously doubted this was going to work if she threw a fit every time he made a request.

"Indeed sir, I hope your stay here will be a pleasant one." Amelia did her best to sound causal.

"Oh indeed it will Miss of _that_ I _am_ certain." He smiled cockily.

She wanted to puke, hating the practiced respect passing between them, wanting to smack that grin right off his blasted face. Who did he think he was to be speaking to her in such a fashion! She was a lady…and he was of the pauper-class! Oh how she would have loved to run back upstairs to grab her dagger and cut that grin off. But that would be too messy and unsanitary, dangerous besides. Giving him a good strong kick would have to do. No, she could not do that; it would be unladylike of her and not to mention make things worse.

"Aren't you going to invite him to sit down?" asked her father, "Or rather invite him into the foyer and _then _ask him to sit down?"

"Oh, of course." She said, "Please, if you would kindly follow me." Amelia breezed into the other room, softly, her steps almost innocent.

Erik sat down on an overstuffed sofa, looking about him at the homey furniture and the plain white walls. One would hardly guess that a nobleman lived here with his daughter, the home seemed fit to the middleclass then the aristocracy. Indeed, nothing about them seemed, rich or even high-class about these people, particularly their attitude, good god the girl was as outspoken as they come and frankly it amused him to some extent as it appeared his first expectation had been right, she was nothing more than a spoiled little daddy's girl obviously given whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it.

"Well, aren't you going to offer him some refreshments?" her father asked.

Amelia nodded, going to fetch to cups of steaming cups of tea offering one of them to him which he took in a strong hand that just lightly brushed hers. Amelia jumped lightly at the shiver, and Barnezet, damn him was laughing at her! His sense of humor was really annoying! Still she maintained her social graces (god only knew how) and smiled at him falsely chuckling although she thought the man quite mad and could not see what she had done that was humorous. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea.

"So Amelia, -may I call you Amelia- thank you, just how good are you at playing the piano forte my dear?" Erik asked.

"I swear if you call me 'my dear' one more time "she ground her teeth, "I'm going to…"

"Ah-ah-ah, respect for your instructor." Erik smiled arrogantly and stood up, "come now, into the music room with you, you must show me what you can do dearling."

"That's it!" Amelia walked over to him and gave him a good strong high-kick to the groin.

Erik crumpled down on the floor as though he were made of paper, groaning as he clutched himself soothingly. Amelia nodded her satisfaction glad for the ballet classes she had taken as a child. Her father gave her a you-are-in-so-much-trouble look but she did not care. He had it coming, she had warned him adequately. She sat back down with a pleasant smile and sipped her tea.


	6. A Rocky Start

**Chapter 6**

**A Rocky Start**

Erik got to his feet, the Marquise glaring at his daughter through green eyes as though he were going to kill her. He raised his hand and as though to strike her, and she had a flash of fear in her eyes but she kept her head high, as if he had done this before. Her father brought down his hand, but Erik caught it with such force that his new employer grimaced. Erik shook his head; as much as the girl deserved a good thrashing he would have preferred it to be one of words. Erik did not like it when men hit women especially if the woman was his daughter. Fathers were meant to indulge their daughters put them on a pedestal, not hit them.

Surely the Marquise knew that for he was no boy and looked as though he had seen at least fifty winters. But then, his daughter was no prize either and was obviously past marital age, and with that mouth of hers she could drive any father mad. Still, it was the mother's job to discipline her not her father's. At least that is what Marie had told him, should he ever be lucky enough to have one. Speaking of mothers, where was the woman to begin with, he'd seen her briefly at the door and then she did a vanishing act. Perhaps she had been taught to let her husband be when he worked or something bad would happen.

The Marquise groaned like he was in pain and Erik turned to see that he had nearly crushed the man's wrist, which was turning a sickly bluish color. He let his arm drop and the other man shook his head and gestured for Amelia to take Erik into the music room; she nodded her head and bowed to Erik respectively before taking him by the hand. He followed her, keeping a gentlemanlike distance from her as he did so. Amelia closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door, meeting his eyes she shook her head.

"You'd do best not to anger him." She said softly.

"Amelia, your father should not strike you, it is not right." He replied.

"You should not make him mad." She said.

"I will not have him hitting my student." He retorted.

Amelia noted the note of finality, of absolute conviction in his voice as though he made the rules and they must be obeyed. She was touched over his protectiveness and wondered why he had gone from brute to gentleman all of a sudden. He said nothing but gestured to the piano with a dismissive sweeping hand. Rolling her eyes she sat down to the instrument and started to play, Erik cupped his chin in thought; the girl was not bad but not very good either. Somewhere in the middle…her high notes were off, he squeezed his eyes shut…_way _off. They were dull and flat, not to mention horribly off key for that matter. Had no one had that piano repaired ever? He came up and put his hand over hers firmly, causing her to jump.

"What?" she asked.

"Forgive me, but I simply cannot take that screeching any longer." He said.

She rolled her eyes at him, when he plunked the keys in the high-note section and grimaced. He reached up and felt for any damage, discovering the piano to be in very good condition and then looked at the piece that she had been playing, I Believe my Heart of course. Women _always _picked I Believe my Heartfor some odd reason. Perhaps it was the romance of the lyrics or the idea of what they conjured. Regardless he had heard the song played many times by the new chorus rats at the Garnier and the player always messed it up. He released the hand that he had been keeping away from the keys and stood behind her. He gestured to her to play again but no sooner had she started then he slammed his fingers down on the keyboard and made her jump. She looked at him; he took a deep breath.

"You are hitting too many sharps; you need to hit the regular notes in order to drop the octave in order to reach the desired clef and then follow the tetra in order to reach the desired melody." He said.

"What?" she looked at him blankly.

He sighed, "You are hitting too many black keys, hit more of the white ones to sound better." He explained.

"Oh, well, you could have just said that you know." She said.

Erik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, was this girl really so ignorant when it came to music? One would think that being the daughter of a nobleman she would have some knowledge of the subject. But this young woman seemed as dumb as a doorknob when it came to pitch, or notes or simple vocabulary! It was going to be a very long night if she kept this up. She started to play again and this time she sounded a little better (much to Erik's relief) but then she started to daydream and hum along with the music. Erik was surprised; she had a pretty voice, yes, sweet and submissive, much unlike its mistress.

_'Christine had a pretty voice too; you lost your heart to it. She distracted you from what you are. Don't let it happen again.' _He thought.

He cleared his throat harshly and she looked at him, annoyed, "What now, am I off-key or something?"

"Excuse _me_Miss Fairchild, "he snapped," I would appreciate your focus. I am not here to give you singing lessons."

"Well _pardon me _Mister. Barnezet, I don't mean to upset your schedule." She retorted, turning stubbornly back to the piano.

"Yes, well I forgive you." He said; feeling irritated beyond belief with her attitude.

Now that was more than she could take, Amelia stood up from the piano and stalked over to Erik and said in a voice gripping for ladylike control, "All right then maestro, why don't you do it if you're so perfect! Go on!"

Erik sighed and brushed past her in a rustle of black silk and grace, sweeping up to the instrument as if he were its master. He closed his eyes a moment and sighed as he moved his fingers over the keys with gentleman's grace as he moved easily from bar to bar, measure to measure. Erik lost himself in the hypnotism of that moment when he floated in another world. His own world, dark, deep and full of passion that he controlled, where he was the master and those around him the subjects and he alone created it. When the song ended he looked up to see Amelia standing rooted to the spot. He smiled oleased with himself at her awestruck pose and noting for the first time that she was speechless.

"That was amazing!" she whispered, "That was absolutely amazing."

Erik bowed, flashing a grin, "Now you, Amelia." He offered her a seat beside him. She sat down beside him and began to play the song, but he no sooner heard the first bars then he wrapped her across the knuckles with the polished steel-head of his walking stick.

"Ow, what the-" she muttered something vulgar under her about a female dog having a male pup.

"Such language my dear, such language, hardly becoming of a noblewoman." Erik said with an almost tender tisk-tisk, "You lack emotion, you give the music its sound. The piano is like a ship and you are at the helm, the music is in you and you need to let it flow."

"Well you know what," she started.

Erik cut her off, "Now look here, I have been nothing but a gentleman since I have arrived and you have been -heaven forgive me for the harshness of my tongue- a bitch. I trust that you know I am here to be your tutor and nothing more. Now please can we get on with the lesson in a civil manner?" "when I return tomorrow I expect you to have practiced your scales and read up on the vocabulary I used today that you misunderstood." He bowed, "Good evening Miss Fairchild."

He left her there and she stood at the piano, thinking of the strange music teacher who had come for her, where his music had taken her and what her father had done today. Amelia was about to reply with a 'good night' but she thought better of it and nodded her head in reply. He was right, she had been a bitch to him and she had best behave towards the man or her father would punish her severely. Erik nodded and turned towards the door, gave a sweeping bow and let himself out.

But as he was leaving he heard her say, "Mister Barnezet, I was going to say thank you for your instruction."

"You are most welcome my dear, till tomorrow then." he said.


	7. Reasons

**Chapter 7**

**Reasons**

The door of the music room closed with a finalizing thud, like the final boom of an executioner's drum. The click of the lock was leaving her alone in the dark while she fought back the tears threatening to break forward. Here came again a long and lonesome night where she was left alone to 'think about what she had done' her father had disciplined her more severely than usual for her behavior towards Mister Barnezet, (not that she could blame him) she would have made her child suffer endless penitence for doing such a thing to their instructor. But then, she was in the dark. Amelia had always hated the dark, no particular reason why she just did. It reminded her of being locked inside of a box, and that was what made her want to cry.

She looked over at the piano and went to sit at the bench; the piano was standing there seemingly calling her. Dull light of the full moon gleamed in, lighting the keys just enough so that she could see them. Her fingers floated along them, gliding out of sheer blindness as she thought about her father, how she wished she could be angry with him. How she wished she could be unattached to him, be able to just walk out of his life but she couldn't. Why, because she was his daughter and she loved him, and why, she didn't know…she didn't know.

_"I look for sympathy, he gives me sorrow, _

_I ask for honesty, he's none to borrow… _

_I need his tender kiss; I beg it of him… _

_He gives me ugliness…_

_Why do I love him?" _

Amelia did not realize that she had been playing the piano until the last bar floated through the room. She started to cry, wishing that she didn't love him, wishing she didn't want to be her daddy's little girl. But she did, she wanted her father's love, needed him to be the man he was supposed to be, the man who dried her tears and told her stories. A man she could love and feel justified in doing so, not like she did now. She sighed and thought of what would please him, and then shook her head. Nothing she did would please him her father hated her because she was a girl and he had no son.

The title of Marquise would go to the man she married and be forever lost to him. She sighed and closed her eyes. Her head slumped over the piano, but she was such a deep sleeper that she did not hear the thunk of the wood beneath her head. She was in one of those moment-one-shuts-one's-eyes sleeps, oblivious to the sounds of her mother weeping helplessly in the other room but then when she heard the one thing that shocked her from her sleep, her father's voice soft, and gentle. It was unlike her father, almost sweet.

"Mae love, it's for her own good, you know that my love." He whispered.

"But Ken, she's only a girl…" said her mother.

The chink of ice in a glass sounded and Amelia knew her father was pouring his usual glass of brandy. "Amelia is no longer a little girl Mae." Her father was adamant on that point, would listen to no argument.

"But Ken…" Mae's voice pleaded with him, "She was just…"

"No 'buts' Mae, Amelia's behavior towards Mister Barnezet was disgraceful." He said.

"That I will not deny, but must you lock her away? Surely there is a better way to…" Mae implored him.

"_No," _the harshness was back in his voice, "Amelia must be taught to respect her betters."

Amelia almost laughed at that; Erik Anton Barnezet was no more her better than she even if he is her tutor. If her father thought he was, then she had something to teach him that was for sure. Pierre De Chagny was not better than her either, no one was better than she, oh she knew she sounded conceded but she had to have _something _to make her feel better and so she used her ego. Amelia knew her father would not let her out tonight and she was far too sleepy to bother picking the lock with her hairpin. So she curled up on the sofa and for once she was grateful to be short so she fit on it perfectly.

Before she fell asleep she heard her parents again, "Ken _please…"_

"No Mae, "his tone was final, short, "now you best go to bed and I will join you in a moment."

"Goodnight my love." She said and Amelia her kiss him, the soft _squish _of it evident through the thin wall.

"Goodnight sweetheart," he replied in that gentle voice so unlike him.

Amelia wondered not for the first time why her mother loved him when he could be so hard and cold. Her father was a man, whose formidable nature made him very unlikable, and yet she called him 'my love' and he called her 'sweetheart.' Amelia did not understand it at all, how could he be so gentle to her mother when he was so aloof with everyone otherwise. This was the last thing she thought about before she fell asleep.

Kenneth did not like Erik Barnezet; he did not like him at all. How dare that man come in and undermine his authority! Stopping him from disciplining his daughter and then twisting his arm nearly off. Amelia needed to show respect and that was the only way to teach her, Erik Barnezet had no right to interfere in his family. Ken had half a mind to fire the man tomorrow before he could step through the door! He would have liked to do that, but there was the matter of his daughter that foolish child had chased off every other piano tutor who had come to call.

Her hothouse temper was always chasing them off, no one wanted to teach her. Every tutor she'd been too had told him that her temper and disrespect was unforgiveable and not to bring her back. If he was not so desperate for her to become a proper young woman fit to marry the Vicomte de Chagny, Erik would be out of a job by morning. Amelia needed to be able to play the piano exquisitely if she were to impress Pierre de Chagny for after all while she was truly a lovely girl she was not all together beautiful. Amelia was slender but overly so and seemed to retain none of the plumpness of fortune that desirable women possessed, her face was thin and the babyish roses in her cheeks had long faded.

He sighed, he cared for his daughter, but she was going to ruin him if she did not marry soon. What would his friends say if his daughter was unmarried by the age of twenty, now of no use to anyone and just a plain woman destined to manual labor for lack of her own assets. What would his friends say if the only child of the Marquise of Brentworth had no heir to carry his line and died off all because his daughter was too pigheaded to know where she belonged?

He went to the music room where he unlocked the door, creeping in as dead-silent as the wind. He sat down beside his daughters sleeping form and petted her light brown hair. Ken remembered for a moment the little child that she had once been and lifted her onto his lap causing her to wake.

"Father," she mumbled, obviously surprised at his tender hold, then in an almost childlike voice she said, "Can I go to my room now, can I sleep in my bed?"

Kenneth shook his head sternly, but his voice was soft. "Amelia, you know I love you, I hate punishing you like this, but it's my duty." His voice was grave and full of apology.

Amelia nodded though her eyes filled with tears, she believed him, and she _had _to believe him. He was her daddy, the man that loved her more than anything in the world. Amelia believed him, she loved him. He held her for a moment more and allowed her to snuggle close to him. He set her down and covered her up, leaving her alone, and crying in the dark.


	8. An awkward meeting

Chapter 8

An awkward meeting

_Erik Barnezet_

I arrived back at Barnezet Court from my first lesson with the Fairchild girl and once again turned my thoughts towards my new life. I am now a man of means and power a man with a steady job and an honest living. It is strange to see myself this way when just a short time ago I was living like a creature. True, I never saw a problem with it before but now that I have had a taste of the new life I feel cheated that I had never had it before. But then, fate has often cheated me. It made sense to me though that life had taken me through that dark rode for now I have a ray of hope…that girl in the mirror. If only I could find her, but until then I intended to stay at my work and make a reputation for myself as an honest man. The woman I am to give my whole heart to must be made the love of an honest man.

But then there was the matter of who I am working for, the Marquise was a man I hated without knowing and his daughter was… his daughter was something else! I have never met any child so disrespectful; the girl had her nerve that was for certain, kicking me in the groin for the love of god. But now as I return home I can forget all that and think of the woman I am to love. I shucked off my greatcoat and my gloves, leaving the butler to retrieve them and then set about getting comfortable. Once I was in my chair in front of the fire I had the maid pour me a cup of tea, from my kettle. In another time I would have considered it impertinent to allow anyone to do anything for me that I could have done for myself. But there are some advantages in the life of luxury. I had just begun sipping my tea when I read the paper: **Christine Daaë and Raoul de Chagny to marry this evening.**

Why I cared about this I do not know, but it placed a dagger through my heart so deeply that I cried out. I went to my room, not heeding the cries of the help as they rushed to see what the matter was. Closing the door to my room I dropped to my knees and cried, Christine was not my true love but still, her rejection cut me deep. It was no easier to let her go now, no more than it had been when she had left me in my underground home. I needed to get out, needed to go far away from here, from France itself if need be. Perhaps the girl that is meant to love me is somewhere else; I hope she is for I cannot bear to stay here.

I ran straight down the hallway, the poor butler running desperately behind me as he tried to hand me my coat. The rainy night clattered against the window I threw open the large French door shrugging off the butler in such determination that he was thrown back. I made my way down to the street but then I slipped on the rainy streets and fell to my back, where my world plummeted into darkness. I awoke to find myself in bed, swaddled in the pristine silks of my bed and warm. Benjamin was at my side he with a cool cloth and was pressing it to my forehead. I wanted nothing more at that moment then to go to bed or rather to sleep, but Mary, my maid came in with an apologetic look on her face.

"Oh Master do forgive me, "poor Mary looked like she was about to cry, "I know you're sick, but she insisted that she see you."

I puzzled a moment over who this visitor was, but then my head hurt too much to bother with asking. Not that I needed to anyway, the woman came in with a hurried rustle of silk and lace. I recognized her from the Fairchild house and I did not need to guess twice who she was. She was obviously Mme. Fairchild, no doubt here to apologize for her daughter's behavior.

"Bonjour Monsieur," Good God, her French was worse than her daughter's; it was so heavily accented from the English country girl lilt that it was almost crippling to my ears.

"Madame forgive me but would it be too much to ask if you spoke to me in English? Your French is hard for me to understand." I said.

She smiled graciously, "Yes sir, please forgive me I had no idea that you spoke English and I was only trying to accommodate you."

"I appreciate that Madame, but I assure you I speak fluent English do not belabor yourself on my account." I could see the woman was just trying to help me, so I did not make an issue.

"I am truly sorry to trouble you," she started.

I doubted that, the woman should have known better than to call on me at home when I was ill or moreover at all. If as she said she did not want to trouble me than why did she come here, I have no connection with this woman other than that she is my students mother. But one look into her eyes told me that she was truly innocent in deliberately causing me trouble and so I let out a laugh and struggled to my elbows. Looking at the woman it did not take my long to confirm that she was Amelia's mother; the resemblance to her was uncanny. Her facial structure, the line of her jaw, everything minus her hair and eyes was perfectly matched to her daughter.

"Not at all Madame… why though did you come?" I asked.

The woman smiled gratefully ay me, obviously not used to being so easily forgiven for what she did wrong. She helped me sit up, and gave me some water before sitting in the chair beside my bed. If I had not known better I would have sworn she had come there just to fuss over me and keep watch by my sickbed. She had a kind face and looked like the fragile sort of woman that was apt to cry over every little thing. My visitor seemed the sort of woman who was bred to be the mate of the typical aristocrat, (which the Marquise was), pretty, placating and obedient.

"I feel it is my duty to tell you my daughter will marry the Vicomte de Chagny "she said.

I blinked, "Really, what do I care of this?"

"Yes, that's why we needed you, oh please don't quit sir, you're our last hope." She looked like she would cry at any moment.

I wondered what her daughter's marriage had to do with me, "Why?" I asked now curious more than anything else.

"Amelia's temper sir, the other masters refuse to teach her… she must impress the Vicomte, please sir, she's nineteen already, if she gets any older she'll be a spinster and my husband will be disgraced." She then started to cry.

I had no doubt that the woman was being honest, the Marquise would be disgraced should his daughter remain unmarried much longer and God knows what that man would do if his life went out of place. Amelia's temper was something I knew well, and that too made sense, as to why her father had hired me with no question to my references or profession. I looked at the weeping woman and struggled up on my elbows to hug her, she stiffened at the contact as though she were unused to being comforted when she cried.

Although it may seem strange that I had hugged her, I am a man. Like most men I cannot stand to see a woman weep ex-phantom or no, and so I hugged her tightly. Come to think of it tis indeed very odd that I, who mere weeks ago would have laughed at her tears, mocked them with false ones of my own. Perhaps it was the angel's chocolate that was having a residue in my heart. Either way it has made me hate to see a woman cry.

"I'm very sorry to cry like that sir," she said.

"I assure you that your tears are justified, but forgive me you did not give me your name."

"Oh," she blushed, "Where are my manners? Mae Emily-Rose Fairchild."

"Charmed I'm sure, Erik Anton Barnezet," I said.

She smiled at me, "you will be there for her lesson then?" she asked.

"Yes Madame, I will." She smiled at me gratefully, "Now Madame I am unwell and wish to be alone." I said.

The woman seemed to take the hint, she bowed and hurried off, leaving me alone in the darkness of my room.


	9. A very interesting lesson

Chapter 9

A very interesting lesson

_Amelia Fairchild_

The net day was one that I will never forget, for Erik Barnezet was there at my door, but he looked handsome. He was dressed from head to toe in black; his dark hair was slicked back in a Spanish–style that made him look like a matador. It seemed to me as though he were trying to impress me, not that this was the case of course, he is as he said himself, 'my music tutor and nothing more' but he was still rather suave in that outfit and the sweeping gesture he made to me was charming indeed. He swept into the room and placed a kiss on my hand the way a proper gentleman would and gave me a mannish smirk.

"How are you this morning Amelia," he asked in that soft baritone.

"Fine," I answered, my voice was squeaky and high-pitched.

What was wrong with me, all he had done was inquire how I was and I was cracking like an egg! Erik nodded his dark head and let out a soft rumbling laugh and I noticed for the first time how blue his eyes were and how mischievous besides. What's wrong with me, he's older than me, so much older, in his late thirties at least but he seemed so young and unstoppable when he smirked like that. Erik bowed low and swept by me into the room where he took the bright array of flowers from the top of the piano and placing them to the side. I thought this rather odd, for they were quite lovely but apparently my maestro had an aversion to decorations and did not appreciate them. I said nothing and held my head high when he gestured to the piano.

"Did you practice?" he asked, I nodded but he looked skeptical, "we shall see."

Rolling my eyes I sat at the piano beginning to play when he started to hum along and his voice stopped me in my tracks. It was soft and smooth and gentle as though there were some regulated pitch that he never broke. Erik's voice was beautiful and soft as he sang, his blue eyes closed and he seemed far away and lost in the beauty of the music for it was a truly beautiful piece. When the song ended I rose to my feet and clapped for him. My tutor seemed startled as though he had not known that he was singing, but offered a true showman's grin and accepted the applause gracefully.

"Where did you learn to sing like that?" I asked.

"I've always been able to," he said, "sing I mean."

"Do you think you could do it again?" I asked.

I toyed with the emerald fabric of my dress, afraid he would refuse but then he seemed to enjoy the attention and laughed saying, "As you wish."

_"A moonlit night glowed softly bright in the summer heat_

_ Beauty as it was, it did glow silvery and sweet_

_ Crickets chirping in the gleam, made a softening tune._

_ While danced a young girl with tears in her eyes under the light of the moon."_

I smiled at him when he finished the first verse and then stopped before sitting down at the bench and running his fingers over the keys. He played nothing more than a simple tune and then stood up again to seat me back at my place where I tried to mimic what he had done. It did not work; in fact I made a mess of it, and stopped when he put his hand over mine. Looking at that hand I noticed how smooth it was and how strong, the look on his masked face was approving although annoyed. He raised my hand and ran my fingers along the keys as in the way of a man who teaches a child. That was more than I could take and I yanked my hand away from him, glaring at him through furious green eyes.

"What," he asked, "I was merely guiding your hand in the proper direction."

"I _don't need _you to guide my hand sir, I am not a child!" I snapped.

Erik looked incredulous, "I never said you were, but you were doing it wrong."

"Well why don't you **show **me how it's done then." I snapped, and he sighed.

He played and once again I was blown away by the talent this man possessed and then watching his hands I thought I heard the smallest of voices in the back of my head. The voice was saying that he was someone destined for me; I shook it off and decided to lay off the wine from now on. He finished and gestured for me to sit; when I did he took my hand in his again without asking and guided me again through each bar until the song ended. Erik smiled at me, and then he let his fingers lightly travel over mine. I smiled back and then that voice again, persistent in my head telling me that we were meant to be. Closing my eyes I tried to block it out but only saw the form of a nearly colorless woman with brilliant green eyes.

_"You will love this man Amelia, you will love this man." _She said.

When I opened my eyes I saw him looking at me strangely, an odd fire in his eyes as he yanked his hand off mine and told me to try the piece on my own now. I did, and this time I am proud to say that I played it fairly well, (or at least I thought so) my maestro seemed less convinced and came up behind me. He placed his hand on my back and wrapped his arm around my waist sitting me up straight. His arm was warm, _too _warm and I felt a little awkward as I turned to look at him and he met my eyes.

"Your posture is off." He said.

_"Kiss him Amelia," _That damn voice again! _"Feel the bond that is already there, kiss him."_

He was saying something but all I could concentrate on was his lips, full and firm as they were. Erik tipped my chin up, and our eyes locked his blue ones to my green and then he looked away. I wanted to kiss him, I needed to kiss him and I didn't know why because I was not in love with the man. I hardly knew him and yet I felt drawn to him. I went to his side and he gave me an odd look to which I simply touched his cheek. He did not pull away, too surprised to do so no doubt.

_"Go on, kiss him." _The voice said.

The most surprising thing happened; Erik leaned his head down and slowly brought his lips to mine. I did not pull away, the voice in the back of my head was cheering as he brought his hand around to cup the back of my head. The shocks going through me were nothing like anything I'd ever felt, the kiss was warm and hot all at once. His tongue was introduced to my mouth in a most pleasurable way and the sparks were flying. I am not completely ignorant to the art of a kiss, I am nineteen after all and have been kissed before, but there was something curious about this kiss.

It felt right, special even like this one moment waited for me all my life. _'No,' _I chastised myself, _'this is disgusting, its Jane Eyre and Mister Rochester level!' _but there was nothing for it, as my tutor deepened the kiss I let him, I relaxed into his arms and he cradled me to him. He pulled away then breathless and blushing behind his mask and turned to leave.

"Uh, keep practicing Amelia, I'll see you tomorrow!" he blurted and ran out leaving me standing there with my finger on my lips.


	10. The girl in the mirror

Chapter 10

The Girl in the Mirror

**Erik**

I left the Fairchild house feeling more than a little confused and also rather disgusted with myself for kissing my student. Who did I think I was to be doing such a thing? Of one thing I was certain, that tomorrow was going to be very unpleasant and awkward. I was drunk as a Lord as the saying goes, having frequented the tavern where I got drank at least three bottles of very strong and rather warm wine. I stopped counting at three bottles but then who could begrudge me a drink or two after what happened today I was now dizzy and drunk and feeling sick to my stomach and still blushing like a foolish young lad.

The door to my home was flung open and the maids stopped me to tell me that an odd man with ebony skin and eyes of jade had come calling and refused to leave till he had a word with me and that the man was in the library. I nodded and thanked the woman with a sigh, truth-be-told I was in no mood for company but then I welcomed the distraction from thoughts of the eminent unpleasantness to come tomorrow when I returned to the Fairchild home.

Sure enough, the Daroga was there, snoring loudly in an armchair, in peaceful parted-lipped oblivion. Checking the time I realized that it was indeed rather late and then noticed the copy of Romeo and Juliet resting open on his chest. I will never understand the man's fascination with romantic stories as I cannot stand them in the least but I suppose he has the right to like them as he wishes. He grunted and let out a rough, rumbling snore and for some reason I found myself smiling at him. So, not wanting to wake him, I covered him with a thick living-room blanket, poured myself a glass of port and sat reading a copy of Dracula while I waited for him to wake up. It was close to an hour when the man finished his nap and when he woke he offered me a smile that was both sleepy and apologetic.

"Sorry my friend, I must've dropped off to sleep." He said, "When did you get home and why were you out so late, and why do you smell like you've been marinated in wine."

"In that order, there's nothing to apologize for, an hour ago, I'll tell you in a moment and is this interrogation?" I asked, peevishly.

"No, but it is not like you to be drunk like this and as your closest friend I demand to know what the matter is," He replied, crossing his arms and looking at me expectantly.

"Ugh, Daroga, I kissed my student!" I blurted.

"Daaë, Erik you've not been following her have you?" he asked looking sad for me.

"No, no you twit, I mean Amelia!" I shouted exasperated for no reason at all.

"Wait, wait Erik who's Amelia? What in Allah's name are you going on about?" he looked puzzled.

I sighed, remembering that I had not given Nadir an update on my affairs recently and began to relay to him all that had happened to me in the past month since I moved out of the opera. My getting a job teaching the daughter of the Marquise, my horrible first meeting with her, (Nadir laughed when I mentioned the part about getting kicked in the groin) and then decided to sit down. My first lesson with her where I had called her a bitch and so on, I told him of my singing a lullaby to her in the music room and her entrancement at the sound of my voice. Nadir rolled his eyes at that and gave me a why-am I not-surprised look before I got to the kiss. He smiled at me, that knowing smile when I told him of how unexpected it was and how perfect she felt in my arms.

This annoyed me for I did not consider this anything to smile at, when he asked me if she enjoyed it too I felt angry and snapped, "How the bloody hell am I supposed to know?" then I thought about it and said, "She seemed to, yes."

He clapped his hands together, "Well then, what's the problem?"

"WHAT'S THE PROBLEM? WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?" my voice had risen to an epic volume, "Daroga, she is nineteen, I'm thirty-six and it is totally improper, she's my employer's daughter for Christ's sakes!"

The other man laughed, "Oh yes Erik and stalking Daaë, trying to kill the former Vicomte and almost forcing her into marriage was _completely _acceptable."

I sighed, "You're not helping at all." I said roughly.

"I am only being honest my friend, now I suggest you go to bed, it's almost one in the morning and I am sure you will feel better after you sleep for a little while, or a long while, whichever."

"I suppose you are right, you will spend the night here?" I asked.

"If you don't mind," he said.

"If I minded would I have asked if you wanted to stay?" I asked him.

He smiled and shook his head bidding me goodnight as I directed him to the guest room and then went to the master-bedroom where I kicked off my shoes and shucked off my heavy coat. The bed was comfortable and I intended to make good use of it for the next nine hours at least. Lying down atop the mattress I tucked the covers over myself and fell asleep, waking to find myself atop a cloud and floating high above the world. Then I heard a light and breathy laughter and turned around, seeing to my surprise, the angel from before.

_"Well Erik, so you've met her." _the angel beamed at me as dazzling as ever.

I had no idea who the hell she was talking about but I was not in the mood to argue so I nodded my head. She smiled softly and nodded touching my face but then at my puzzled look she rolled her green eyes. She then conjured a mirror and showed it to me where the vision of a woman changing into a lacy nightgown for bed. When she turned to the mirror however I froze, there standing and looking for all the world like an innocent little girl was Amelia Katherine-Edith Fairchild. It took my mind several minutes to process this and when I did it hit me like a good strong punch to the gut.

_"Erik, she is the one who is to love you," Said the angel._

I could not believe what I was hearing, Amelia, my spoiled, bitchy student was the woman who I am to swear my undying devotion. This would explain my thought of her loveliness when I first saw her, and my desire to kiss her in the music room yesterday. But it was so wrong in more than one way. It was not to be and I was going to make sure of that. But perhaps it was a joke, this angel was a coy one and had been known to meddle.

"You must be joking!" I said, "She is my student!"

_"Regardless, she is the one to love you, or did you not feel the bond when you kissed her," _she said.

"Wait, that was you who made me kiss her?" I asked in outrage. She smiled and nodded, "oh great thank you for making my life difficult!"

The angel rolled her eyes to heaven and clapped twice before disappearing and sending me whiling back to reality where I woke with a start. Sweat dripping from my brow as I thought over my future with Amelia. What was I thinking, there would be no future! She was my student and nothing more, planning to marry Pierre de Chagny. No, I would not lose my heart to her, never. With this resolve in mind I fell asleep.


	11. A Brutal Man

Chapter 11

A Brutal Man

_Amelia Fairchild_

My tutor was arriving soon and I knew this was going to be a bad day. Not because of the usual morning grogginess or the lateness of my tea but because of yesterday. Why was I kissing him and more importantly why had he not stopped me or pulled away. I do not deny that I enjoyed it; the man was very good at kissing and seemed quite the lover, but still I would never tell him that. He arrived, breezing in to the room as brisk and cold as a winter breeze, looking for the entire world like he meant to kill me. Truth-be-told I had no idea why really he was the one that had kissed _me_ but still it was disconcerting for him to look like that. Like a hungry wolf awaiting me to turn my back on him so he could pounce on me.

Deciding to be pleasant I offered him a cup of tea which he knocked out of my hand as though he were expecting poison rather than peppermint. I gasped in horror; my mother would kill me if that left a stain on her rug. Looking at him I placed my hands on my hips, awaiting an apology for which there was none. Fighting the urge to scream at the way he was looking at me, I raised my chin high and decided to act better than he. However when I gestured to the cup on the floor, he kicked it lightly in my direction. My teacher made no move to pick it up, and even gestured to me in a way that ordered me to do so.

I took a deep breath, calling on every ladylike mannerism I had learned in finishing school and gathered the cup from the floor. I poured another cup of tea for him and this time he took it, plastering a smile on my face I asked him if he liked it. He shook his head no and –very rudely I might add-dumped it into the flowerpot. Sighing, I put the kettle aside and offered him my best smile as he walked over to me. Forgetting myself for a moment I glossed over my guest's dastardly manners and opened the curtains. It was indeed a beautiful day; the summer sun was blazing golden and bright and larks were twittering in the trees.

Mr. Barnezet clearly had an aversion to sunlight for he blinked and shielded his eyes with the flat of his palm. I laughed out loud, thinking of how much he reminded me of a vampire in that pose. He did not seem to find it amusing however as he gave a harsh, 'ahem' in the back of his throat. There was a long and awkward silence after this. Finally after several minutes or hours I do not know which I decided that the silence must be broken for my sanity's sake.

"Good morning Mr. Barnezet," I offered, expecting him to return the sentiment but he merely pointed to the piano.

I nodded, obviously he was in no mood for pleasantries and so we began the lesson with him standing over me like a bloody _gene dame_ the whole time. He at once looked at me and then wrapped me on the knuckles with his walking stick so hard that it actually made a _ratta _noise against my skin. I choked back a sob from the pain and then looked down at my hand, which was now red and puffy. Glaring at him I met his icy gaze with one as equally cold and stubborn.

"Mr. Barnezet, look what you've done to my right hand." I snapped.

He shrugged indifferent, "Play." He said, gesturing to the piano.

"Now see here-"I began, but he silenced me with another snap of his stick against my other hand.

"I said _'play'… _now," his voice was cold and hard.

I tried to play, really I did, but my knuckles hurt so badly that I kept fumbling with the notes. Every time I would mess up he would wrap me on the hands, it hurt so much by the end of the first bars that I could hardly move my fingers, something that thoroughly angered my teacher. He grabbed me by the wrist and shoved me aside roughly. Then he played the song, line by line as though he were the instrument himself. He stood up at the end, sat me down in front of the piano, looking at me expectantly.

"Now play it right this time or so help me…" he threatened.

There was a note of menace in his voice and I was worried that he might make good on his threat. "What, what will you do?" I asked, suddenly frightened.

"Never mind that, I said play and that's what you will do." He flipped his hand in a 'go-on' gesture.

I laughed, "You are giving me orders Mr. Barnezet, orders and empty threats?" I pointed an aching forefinger at him, "You're going to do nothing to me, because if you do my father will-"

"Do nothing, or have you forgotten when we met?" he laughed then, a horrible mocking laugh that grated on my ears, "I could take you right here and now Amelia and as long as I did not get you pregnant he would not give a damn."

"Why you son of a bitch!" I shouted, how dare he say such a thing to me. "You blackguard, you-"

"Ah, ah, ah, my dear remember I am your master of music and you will do as I SAY." The last word was shouted.

"Or what?" I laughed again, doubting his threats had any substance to them. He advanced on me and grabbed me by the arm, yanking me down and slapping my cruelly across the face over and over until I bled, "stop, stop I beg you!" I cried then.

Surprisingly he did stop and lifted me into his arms, saying, in a soft question, "Will you behave yourself."

"Yes, yes I will, just please don't hit me any more daddy…"I had started to sob.

"Daddy?" asked my tutor, a sudden fire in his eyes, he looked like he meant to kill him.

"I-I mean Mr. Barnezet," I stammered a little too quickly, "my father is a good man…he loves me very much…"

He did not seem convinced, but let the subject drop, and gestured for me to play, but the tears and everything had taken my energy. My tutor was unsympathetic, "Play Amelia." he ordered.

I tried and failed to play and at last he threw up his hands and stormed away with a curt, cutting, 'We'll start again tomorrow.' I stood there cradling my bleeding nose and went outside to watch him leave. His cold behavior was so odd, after yesterday one would think that he would want to impress me rather than beat me. Yet, he hit me without hesitation, and was he going to make good on that threat about playing properly or so help him…? I do not know what he meant by it and I feared it would be worse than being hit across the face…far worse.

Good Lord, what if he acted his words about taking me in the music room would he force himself on me? Would my father really do nothing, really not give a damn what he did to me as long as he did not get me pregnant? The prospect frightened me, I ran into my father's study where he was laying on the couch, snoring and looking rather dead to the world. I shook him and he grunted, before sitting up, bleary-eyed from sleep and looking rather puzzled at the sight of my bloody face. I hugged him around the waist, needing to be held after all that had happened to me today. Though I did not expect him to give me comfort of any sort for he seldom did, he surprised me. My father wrapped one arm around me and made shushing sounds till I was calm.

"What happened to your face?" he asked.

"He… he… hit me daddy…Mr. Barnezet hit me…." I sobbed.

Father blinked and stood up, I thought he would come to my defense, but all he did was retrieve a match to light his pipe. Then he turned to me and opened his arms again, puzzled I hesitated but then ran into his arms. He looked serious for a moment and then knelt down with that stern look that said, 'I'm only going to ask you once' before he said softly.

"Were you disobedient Amelia?" he asked.

I wondered what that had to do with anything but still I answered him, "He, he hit me because I could not play the piece properly."

My father glared at me, "He would not have hit you, if you had played it properly."

"But father, I- I couldn't play…he hit me on the hands." I held them out to him. My father's expression did not soften, though he gently took my hands and kissed them.

"Amelia, regardless of what he's done; you have disobeyed him and will go to the music room till I come for you." He said his voice as cold as his face.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he pointed a threatening finger at the door of the music room and I kept my mouth shut. Trudging to the room I heard my father close the door and then reaching up to touch the smear of scaly dried blood on my face I cried. Don't ask me why because it is not the first time I had been hit, and nor had I been struck by someone that I love. It had not been my father or mother, I did not love Erik Barnezet and still I was crying. It was that kiss he gave me yesterday, so gentle and warm. How could he be so kind to me and then turn into this? Why did I care, why was I upset? I buried my face into my hands and cried, pouring my soul into my hands, no one to comfort me and all alone once more in the dark shadows of deep night.

Of one thing I was certain; my father had hired a brutal man.


	12. Fatherly Advice

Huge twist here, review?

Chapter 12

Fatherly advice

Erik slammed the door of his mansion and tossed off his coat as though it burned him. He rubbed his eyes and stared, shocked down at his palm. How could he have struck her, how? How? How? Why would he do such a thing to her and what the hell happened in there that he felt the need to threaten the daughter of his employer. Ah well, it was for the best, he needed her to hate him, not because he wanted her to hate him. It was simply because of the fact that it was improper for him to love her. She was his employer's daughter for one and the other for the sake of the total disgust of it all! Also, Erik was a stubborn man and determined to prove the angel wrong just because he could and felt like it.

Still, he felt awful, worse than he would have if he had done that to Christine. He realized it then, for the first time, that Christine's words to him not too long ago were true. His soul was a wretched thing and he really was a monster. Erik sat down heavily on the sofa, buried his face in his hands and let out a long-suffering moan. He knew now that he had done something terrible, more terrible than all the murders at the opera. Erik had hit the woman that the angel had given him, a rare treasure he had abused and brutally marred. It seemed that the Phantom still remained and would never leave no matter how much he fought to keep him repressed.

That was the only reason he could give for his actions, when the night before he had given her a kiss, so gentle and warm Oh, that kiss, that damned kiss, curse that damn meddlesome angel. Not just a kiss, but a kiss that had felt righter than any kiss, even the woman he had given everything for, even for… Erik closed his eyes and groaned. She was _such _a lady, offering him tea and a 'good morning,' even after he'd been a brute. He heard the clink of the brandy-bottle and felt the liquid burn him before he could register it, then he yawned and lay down on the couch. The Phantom sighed, the image of Amelia's face in his dreams, tears streaming down her he woke that morning, standing over him was his Persian friend who looked as though he were upset.

"Erik what is going on?" he asked.

"What are you talking about Daroga?" The Phantom snapped.

"You were crying in your sleep," said the other man.

Erik was rather annoyed at the man; he was always crying in his sleep and saw no reason for Nadir to be poking is nose in his business. The Persian had always been a meddlesome fellow and he would not let the subject go till he got the answer. Erik sighed and pushed back the mop of disgruntled hair from his face, feeling glad that he had someone to talk to. His student was the only thing on his mind and the one thing he did not want to think about. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed like a broken child.

"Allah protect us, what is going on?" Nadir asked him.

"I don't want to fall for her!" Erik cried.

"Her?" Nadir asked, "Who is 'her?'"

"The Fairchild girl," Erik cried, "My student!"

Nadir looked at Erik, sighing as he went to the other side of the room and poured Erik a shot before sitting him down. He took the seat across from him and waited with a glint in his eyes. It was that tender almost fatherly gleam as Nadir sat down and stared at him, the man was fifty-six and had something to tell Erik something that he knew would change them forever. The other man knew it was time for the lad to know, thirty-six years past. He just had to figure out how to tell him that him. The masked man sighed as Nadir suddenly wrapped his arms around him and gave him a hug. He was puzzled by it but said nothing.

"Erik… I have something to tell you…" he began.

"What is it?"

"Erik, you're my son…" Nadir said.

"What?" Erik was shocked.

The Persian sighed and stood up, looking Erik sadly in the face and whipping his face sadly. He had expected this, the utter shock and the puzzlement, had been ready for it. Pain however was the one part that he had apparently not been ready for. Erik looked at him and said nothing as though he waited for some more from the father he had never known. He had a Persian father, well that explained his love of curious and fantastic things. His aptitude for storytelling and magic tricks, and the ever-present need to discover new things, still he had to take a moment before responding.

"How can you be my father, my mother…?" Erik stared down at his hands unable to meet the man's eyes.

"Madeline Mulheim was the most beautiful woman of her generation and make no mistake I was not bad myself. She was holidaying in Maradazan when we met eighteen and adventurous and beautiful, I was twenty, flirtatious and very…eager… and one thing lead to another and then you came… why do you think I helped you escape…why I'm always 'meddling' in your affairs. I could not bear for you, my son to be caught by the police, nor could I confess to the shame of…" Nadir looked sullenly at his hands.

It was in that moment that he knew it was a mistake to have told him for the masked man looked so dejected. Rayooka had often told him that he had the worst timing in the world and it was clear that she was right.

"Shame, being my father is a **shame?" **Erik stood to his feet.

Nadir felt disgusted and his face grew hot with embarrassment "No Erik, it's not that! Madeline was to marry the architect Charles Barnezet and being a daddy's girl did not dare tell her father that she loved me." Nadir stood and pulled him into his arms, "She took you away from me…but I looked for you, oh Erik I looked for you."

The Persian sighed and then very softly:

_"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation, darkness stirs and wakes imagination…."_

Erik looked up at him remembering that he had often remembered the tune even as a child. He had sang that song to Christine and told her that he loved her, but then it made sense. It had possessed an air of mystery about it. He hugged his old friend and cried, then in an almost childish voice. Nadir pulled him into his arms and let his head lean on his knee, Erik should have felt awkward but he was with his father…god, the Daroga was his father. Erik let the Persian pull off his mask and set it aside as he finished the final verse of _Music of the Night._

"Can I call you father?" Erik asked him, not knowing why Nadir smiled and hugged him.

"There's my boy." He said, almost as though he were speaking to a child, "Now tell me, why you are so upset?"

"The angel who told me that all hope was not lost; the girl in the mirror is my student." Nadir raised one eyebrow, "Father I don't want to love her, look at what happened last time."

Nadir shushed him and stood propping his head up on a pillow as though he were ill and covered him up. "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. If she is yours then she is yours and there is no use fighting it" He paused and turned off the light, "Sleep Erik," he then bent over and brushed his lips over Erik's forehead.

"I hit her father!" The Phantom blurted.

Nadir shook his head but said nothing as he covered him up more snugly, watching him until he fell asleep. He silently left the room when he heard his son snoring and crept into the guest room, there the poor fellow buried his face in his hands and cried.


	13. Decisions, Decisions

**Chapter 13**

**Decisions, decisions**

**_Nadir Khan_**

I have told him the truth, told him the horrible truth and now he looks at me with something like bitterness in his blue eyes. As tender and innocent as the night before was I know that he is hurt in a way that I can never heal. He seems be the same as he had always been, calling me Daroga and so on and so forth. and yet he allowed me to embrace him earlier. I know it makes no sense at all but then the man was never known for sensibility. Erik even kissed the side of my neck, the way Reza used to do before he died and then went about his work as he writes something for no reason. Erik never had a reason for anything anyhow. He came out to see me, and even though he was smiling at me I could see the strain gripping him. The smile was forced and I went to him, holding out my arms to the man. Erik came into the room, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He was holding a letter from the man he called his father and I could see blotches of tears on it.

The sight of him like that, looking so worried and vonerable made me want to cry like I had done last night and I felt tear welling up. I went to him and opened my arms to him expecting him to shy away because; naturally I believed it was about the news last night. But he gripped me so hard I groaned and squeezed him to lighten his grip. When he did I was able to hug him back, it seemed that all I wanted to do was hug him. I felt as though I was trying to compensate for the last thirty-six years of missed hugs and kind words. Of course, I knew it was foolish, for time flies and cannot ever be rewound. Still, I hugged him hard and rocked him.

His sobs quieted to sniffles and I wiped his eyes with my handkerchief and let him blow his nose into it. I took him to the sofa where I gestured for him to sit down while I made him his favorite tea, Russian with lemon and lead him to the sofa where he sat down heavily. He looked so tired that I wanted to lay his head in my lap as I had done the night before. I wanted to hold him all night, sing him the soft lullabies of my home-land to him. They were so beautiful far more so than the plain French ones. Those were about as soothing as a cheese-grater in my ear, they were nasally and rather annoying. They call French a romance language. Punjabi is far more beautiful, perhaps I am biast to my home land.

"What's wrong _Azethir_?_" _I asked and he sat down.

"I am no 'little one." Said he, I smiled it seemed he had studied my language in his spare time, "My father is ill, he loves me very much," his eyes were weepy.

I raised my eyebrows and brought him his tea, which he accepted and drank in silence. I did not pester him. He looked tired but thoughtful, as though he were contemplating what I had told him last night. Erik then stood and walked towards the mantle, turning to look at me, a grin spreading across his face. I grinned back, his grin was infectious and my son was quite the handsome fellow. This girl in the mirror stood no chance of resisting his charms. He then went to his library and began tossing his books down on the floor in a frenzy. I ran into the room, staring wide-eyed at his massive collection was strewn on the floor. First Editions leather-bound, the beautiful pieces being discarded on the floor like yesterday's scraps.

"Allah, Erik what are you doing?" I asked, hurriedly picking up the books.

"Looking for a book on courting," He said, I burst out laughing at him and he raised his eyebrows, "What is funny about that?"

"Erik there is no _book_, on courting, you must do it yourself." I said.

He looked sad and said, "I tried that with Christine."

I looked at him and did what the lower classes called a face-palm and rubbed my temple. Would this man never learn? "No, you stalked her, and pretended to be her dead father and the angel her father promised. That my boy is hardly courting in fact it's disturbing. I would not have picked you either if you had done that to me."

He nodded looking like he finally understood what I was telling him, but looked peevish nonetheless and gave me a thank-you-for-pointing-out-the-obvious face that I wanted to smack right of of him. The man could be most annoying at times, who did he think he was looking at me in such a way? I am his father... wait no I am not... I made him true but he is not my son. Not in the loving sense and would never carry my name, he had asked me if he could call me father the night before but I think it was merely his need for comfort talking. He is and will forever be Erik Barnezet, son of the famous architect and made that perfectly clear.

_My father is ill, he loves me very much_. Those words were harsh for oh how I wanted him to accept me as his father and to love me the way he clearly loved Barnezet. Still as cutting as his words are I am sure of Erik's reason for them, he saw no reason to take orders from me as I will always be his friend but nothing more and was telling me so in his own sneaky some ways he was so much like Madeline, oh I will have a thing or two to say to that woman when I see her again! If she is anything like what I remember her to be than she is just as bitchy, hotheaded vain and half a dozen other faults. But then there was that shy strength behind it all, that hidden beauty which drew me like a moth to her flame.

I have heard it said that young men look for their mothers when they want to choose a life-mate as we called them in Persia and if that was so than it is no surprise Christine did not work for him. Her innocence and soft-hearted disposition was not at all like his mother and if what he tells me is true than the Fairchild girl is perfect for him. He needed someone to give him a good run for his money, someone who was not scared of him. Erik had been too long without someone saying 'no' to him for fear he would murder them, or otherwise injure them in one way or another. Yes, this Amelia sounds perfect for him and I cannot wait to see what happens when he goes to work today.

"Well what do you suggest Monseiur know-it-all?" he snapped.

"Apologizing maybe, bring her choclates or flowers. Hmm, something that says 'I am sorry for hitting you and being an ass' I don't know just a thought." I said.

"Oh ha, ha ha!" the sarcasm again, "very funny Daroga, you have no idea what kind of woman I'm dealing with, flowers, chocolate, poppy-cock!"

I raised my eyebrows, "This coming from the man who lived underground in a sewer for eighteen years and pretended to be a ghost."

"Oh Daroga, everyone knows the only way to a woman's heart is through music." he seemed to smile. I face-palmed again the man had no brains whatsoever "Or jewels perhaps..." he looked thoughtful.

"Hey Erik here's an idea, why don't you ask around and figure out what _she _likes and then apologize?" I asked, hoping he would get the hint.

"No...no...that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard... but what if I ask around and figure out what she likes and then apologize?" he asked. "Yes that's what I'll do!" he ran off.

"Oy, Allah help him!" I muttered as he repeated me, and sat down to read the paper.


	14. Thoughts

**Chapter 14**

**Thoughts**

_**Amelia**_

In the solitude of my room I find it easy to confide in my diary my most private thoughts and feelings. In this little book I am able to tell of all the things that I do not dare say to my mother or father for fear of being forever disgraced. But then no one but me knows what I write in here anyways so I can be as perfectly obnoxious as I feel like being without worry. Isn't it funny, though that I treat my diary with a great deal of respect considering how I am free to say whatever I wish. But it seems that this freedom is true precious for me to take advantage of.

Even if I had taken advantage of it what would I say for the freedom is lost on me anyways. My diary is a poor neglected book and has seen little use over the past years, kept in a little jewel-box under my bed. Inside the cover there is a picture of me sitting on my father's knee when I was no more than a nursling of two. When I look at that picture it makes me weep, thinking of all the times I needed comfort that he would not give because I was simply too old or something along those lines.

Of course I do not tell him these things because I am after all, not only a lady of society but a _British _lady of society- stiff and proper and all that. Such behavior is of the French style and my father would be disgusted were I to act like one of those sentimental lovers. 'All heart and no head' he'd say and then puff vigorously at his pipe like always. In my diary now I intend to write a poem about what I really feel for my father: 

"Shall I tell you what I think of you?"

By Amelia Katherine-Edith Fairchild

"_Shall I tell you what I think of you?  
You're spoiled!  
You're a conscientious worker  
but you're spoiled.  
Giving credit where it's due  
there is much I like in you  
but it's also very true  
that you're spoiled!_

_Everybody's always bowing to the King  
everybody has to grovel to the King.  
By our father you are blessed  
by my maman you're caressed,  
but the one who loves you best is the King_.

_All that bowing and cow-towing  
To remind you of your royalty,  
I find a most disgusting exhibition.  
I wouldn't ask a Siamese cat  
To demonstrate his loyalty  
By taking this ridiculous position  
_

_How would you like it if you were a man  
Playing the part of a toad.  
Crawling around on your elbows and knees.  
Eating the dust of the road!..._

Toads! Toads! You've turned us all into toads!  
Yes, you're Majesty;  
No, You're Majesty.  
Tell us how low to go, Your Majesty;  
Make some more decrees, Your Majesty,  
Don't let us up off out knees, Your Majesty.  
Give us a kick, if you please Your Majesty  
Give us a kick, if you would, Your Majesty  
Oh, That was good, Your Majesty!"

I found myself laughing out loud at the silliness of the poem for my father was not a King rather he merely deemed it his right to act like one. True I did not bow to him directly nor call him 'Your Majesty' and neither does my mother, after all my father is well-aware that forcing such demeaning habits on me and she is illegal but I bet a pound-a-penny that he would if he could. Daddy was spoiled and stubborn and a right headache. There is a certain comfort in writing down my thoughts.

Now onto the more serious subject of the man my father keeps under his employ. He is a man who I could say a great many things about that's for sure, beautiful though he may be, what with his blue eyes and smile and charming French accent. Or rather he would be were he not such a bastard and did I not hate him so deeply. Well I cannot say I _hate _the man after all there are times when he is quite pleasant so I think very strongly disliking him will have to do. So I write:

Dear Diary

_Never in my life have I encountered a more brutish or confounding man than the one Father has tasked with teaching me to play the piano. What a horrid person! Oh, Diary... I just don't know what to do. I cannot face that monster again. I absolutely refuse! Yet, if I don't, Father will be most displeased. What's more though, that man (or so he calls himself) actually put his hands on me... and I am most embarrassed to admit that I might have reciprocated._

_ Not that I meant to! I wouldn't have been surprised if he had employed some sort of black magic to make me forget who I was; it felt as if I had no control over my actions whatsoever! Worse not only that but I Fear I enjoyed whatever spell it was. When he kissed me it felt like I belonged in his arms and oh what am I saying? He forced himself on me and here I am saying it felt right! Oh I am so confused! _

_ What's worse I am hearing voices! Pretty ones but that is unnatural surely! Not only am I hearing them but they are ordering me around. They told me to kiss him and I did it! Ugh! Oh Lord first the kiss and then the voices. But the worst of it is that Monsieur Barnezet threatened me, saying that he could compromise me and my father would not care in the least as long as I don't beget a child. It makes me think that he is right, and that is what hurts the most. My father probably would not care so long as the man is rich enough to elevate his status._

_ He is pushing me to become the Vicomtesse de Chagny after all, never mind love or anything of that sort. I mean I don't even __**like**__ the Vicomte, not because he is ugly –he's not. Indeed if he were somewhat more humble and not a Mr.-I-am-so-wonderful all the time and did not think that the world revolved around him. If he were more of a gentleman and actually wished to court me properly because he had feelings for me and not because I am as he put it in his letter, __the epitome of__womanliness and with such good blood.__(What a letter right?)_

_ He's so full of himself that he puts himself above all others and condemns the actions of his uncle without examining the reasoning's behind them. Forgive me a stereotype but for a Frenchman he is the most unromantic lover I have ever seen. One would think that a man who is born and bred in the lovers' country would be applauding the former Vicomte's convictions. One would think that he would be proud to call his uncle a Chagny and stand tall and denounce the Comte on the basis of true love conquering all. But no, he has to be politically correct; mayhap it is for this that my father wishes the match so hurriedly._

_How I hate him sometimes! My father is always lamenting over not having a sensible daughter with a good mind but he does not understand that most people in Paris are like me. I mean just look at Raoul de Chagny, true he is not the most handsome of the clan (in my opinion) but what a charming young man he is! Giving up everything he owns all for the love of a girl, in fact he nearly died for her sake. It is truly a love of the ages and I only hope that I may be loved like that someday. But I fear that this dream of mine is fruitless for I shall never fall in love._

_ In that spirit another poem:_

"_Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?  
Where are all those adoring daring boys?  
Where's the knight pining so for me  
he leaps to death in woe for me?  
Oh where are a maiden's simple joys?_

Shan't I have the normal life a maiden should?  
Shall I never be rescued in the wood?  
Shall two knights never tilt for me  
and let their blood be spilt for me?  
Oh where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

Shall I not be on a pedestal,  
Worshipped and competed for?  
Not be carried off, or better still,  
Cause a little war?  
Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

Are those sweet, gentle pleasures gone for good?  
Shall a feud not begin for me?  
Shall kith not kill their kin for me?  
Oh where are the trivial joys?  
Harmless, convivial joys?  
Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?"

_ Ah diary I wish I had more to say to you but the hour grows late and my eyes do not wish to remain open anymore. Today has been exhausting, I wish to say that I am glad it is over, but all I can feel is dread for the days to come. _

With that I closed my book, sighing looking out the window towards the night. I went to sleep in my chair and dreamed of that time long gone by when my father loved me and the world was made of magic. Thinking about tomorrow and what it would bring.

**A quick note:**

**Poem 1: Shall I tell you what I think of you? King and I (Altered by me)**

**Poem 2: Where are the simple joys of maidenhood? Camelot: (unaltered)**


	15. Apologies

Chapter 15

Apologies

Erik came back to work the next morning expecting all hell to break loose when he did; still he went to his student. He looked down at the red calla lilies in his hand and the box holding the new dress he brought. It was velvet and perfect for her with black silken lace and sequins all down the front. Despite numerous reports from her friends and acquaintances around the city that she did not take well to receiving gifts he felt that this dress was hers the moment he saw it in the window of the boutique. Everything about the dress was like her, spitfire red but elegant much like her.

"Well here goes nothing…"

He gulped as he was allowed silently into the house by her father, who despite his severe nature looked like he was ready to murder him. Not that Erik could blame him and he found himself thankful for the first time that Amelia had such a temper as to keep him from being fired. Still he didn't want to say a word to the man for fear the man would cut him off at once. So he went down the hall where he heard a soft mezzo voice humming along to an old English folk song, one he had heard her humming when they first met as she had descended the stairs.

He didn't bother to knock on the door knowing she would not allow him entrance if he did. He simply opened the door and walked in, noticing her in that white lacy day dress and he noticed the bandages on her hands and found himself wanting to throw himself on his knees and kill himself in front of her by way of apology. Instead he sighed and walked up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. No longer caring that she was his student and unable to fight the bond he knew was there.

Amelia turned around and glared into his face pulling away from him and striking him so hard his mask went sideways. How dare this bastard touch her after what he had done! But then she remembered that her hand was injured and winced as it stung. Her tutor sighed and kissed her injured hand, tears pooling in his eyes. This surprised her but she was still mad so she tried to ignore her, Erik cursed the angel in his mind for making him feel like this. He did not like feeling remorse and what was worse he hated it when he was forced to be subservient to anyone let alone to his student.

"Amelia I have come to apologize—"

"For what Monsieur, there are so many things to choose from! For damaging my hands or hitting me! Better yet being a bastard in general!" she interrupted.

"All of those things, I…"

Amelia looked him up and down, "What is _that?"_

"What this it's my suit. Now will you please stop interrupting me?"

"It's _pink!" _She giggled, "You look like such a fop!"

He looked down at the rosy monkey-suit he was wearing feeling like a fool, truth-be-told he hated this thing but it was what she would have liked. Erik had asked her friends around town and they had told him that the best way to make her feel better was to make her laugh. He had asked them how and they had told him that her favorite form of amusement was to tease people so he tried to find something mock-worthy. He was then forced to buy this outfit and come to her house looking like some kind of circus freak just to make her laugh.

Erik sighed feeling his face grow hot with a blush; she started to laugh even more. He liked the sound of it; it was a welcome change from her constant bitching and moaning over every little thing. Still being called a fop was humiliating and so he tried to calm the blush that the word brought on but seeing him in that embarrassed state made her bust up. He turned around at that not liking the way his heart thudded at the twinkle in her eyes. He didn't want to think that her eyes were beautiful, or anything else.

"Yes well I figured that wearing this humiliating thing would help you accept my apology better."

"You look ridiculous." She laughed.

"Well…" Erik tried to think of a suitable comeback and finding none said the first thing that came to his mind, "_you _laugh like a hyena."

Amelia's eyebrows shot up, was he playing the dozens with her? She saw him smile as if to say, 'what no smart remark for me my dear?' And then the most peculiar thing happened… He burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with it. It was soft and warm, like warm pudding at Christmas time. Amelia actually found herself thinking that he was adorable with the blush and his efforts to say sorry. Sarcastic banter was something she never expected from her severe piano teacher. Amelia found she liked this side of him better than the rigid, by-the-book man she had met recently. He laughed with her finding it easy to laugh with her than anything; he had ever done in his life.

He handed her the flowers and she smiled at him, placing them in a large crystal vase on her vanity. Erik liked her smile and he wanted all of a sudden had the urge to kiss her again, he shook it off and presented her with the large box which she at first refused but he pressed it on her until she gave in. Erik watched her hands as she removed the lid and smiled at the gasp when her fingers traced the velvet with her fingers. Erik smiled as he watched her, her hand moving down the sparkly surface in awe as he looked at her to judge her reaction.

She had never owned a dress this this, it seemed to have been made for her. Amelia owned many lovely gowns as a lady of society should but never one of velvet and silk that shimmered. Her gowns were made of taffeta and of fine cotton but even when her father had possessed a fortune there was never enough to buy silk. Ken was always spending it on parties for his associates hoping to clench this deal or that deal.

"I can't accept this Mister Barnezet…" she said.

"Yes you can Amelia I'm certainly not going to wear it." He said, causing her to giggle.

"How much did it cost? At least let me pay you back."

"No Amelia, it's a gift." He said.

"Mister Barnezet I do not like getting gifts. I have to give you your money back."

He shook his head, "I said no," he then got a gleam in his eyes that she didn't quite trust, "But I would consider you paying me back in a different way…"

"Oh, how is that?" she asked.

"I think you know…"

He did not know what he was doing it seemed automatic as though someone was coaching him on exactly what to say. Amelia's eyes winded at the way his voice dropped to that low seductive octave when he had kissed her the first time. Erik walked slowly up to her and caught her shoulder in his hand and she felt that same warmth on him that made her want to shiver. He smiled at her, slow and easy and leaned down brushing his lips to her head and then to her nose and her cheeks and then finally to her lips. She relaxed as a serious sense of déjà vu came over her and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Erik wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to the chair at the vanity where he settled her on his lap and she tangled her fingers in his hair. He made a sound low in his throat when her hand traveled down to his neck. Erik held her close, the angel cheering in the back of his mind but he no longer cared if she meddled in his affairs. Amelia pulled away from him and looked into his face, her mind fuzzy from the kiss and his mind racing with turbulent emotions. He leaned in and caught her cheek, kissing her more tenderly this time but then realizing what he was doing pulled away.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing… this is not proper…"

"Oh hell with propriety… we've been improper since the day you kissed me in the music room." She kissed him again.

Erik broke away from her and looked into her eyes, removing her from his lap. He had to leave her before it went too far but it killed him to let go. He kissed her hands and left in a hurry, leaving her stunned and standing in the middle of her room with her hand on her lips. Erik ran home, ignoring Nadir's worried questions and going straight into his bedroom and flopping down on the bed. His face dripping in a hot sweat as feelings of desire stronger than anything he had ever felt pulsing through him. He closed his eyes trying to sleep but when he did he dreamed of his student and for the first time he didn't feel alone and improper…he felt peaceful.


End file.
